


The faults of our fathers

by crossstitchcorinthian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, harry potter next generation (as it were)
Genre: Children, Family, Friendship, Harry Potter Next Generation, Multi, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossstitchcorinthian/pseuds/crossstitchcorinthian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short, disconnected stories about the next generation of world famous wizards.<br/>(these are fairly old. pulled from my polyvore and wattpad accounts. they're also fairly short. my specific head canons for each character will be pinned on in the end notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Careless charms

"Hey. Victoire. Wait up."  
She paused just long enough to give him a haughty look before turning, letting her hair swing around as she did so.  
Teddy sighed, and quickened his pace.  
"Geez. You're quick. Slow down, would you." She didn't turn back this time, simply halting.  
"Thank you." He leant over slightly when he reached her.  
"Hey. I thought you might need some help. This is your second day, after all. Have you found everything?"  
She nodded. "Hogwarts is not at all as miserable as Mére told me it was." He blinked, slightly surprised by the french word. Teddy couldn't remember them ever speaking anything but english, at least not when he had visited. Then again, it was _in zer blud,_ as Fleur would have said.  
"Right. I'll walk you to your first period. I have free time, don't worry. I'm not skipping anything to escort you around." She gave him a look, and he flushed, rubbing his neck.  
"Okay, so, it was charms. But Harry told me I should help you out." Another look. Sighing, he gave up.  
"Look. Never mind that, what's your first class?"  
Victoire didn't even bother looking for her schedule. Teddy supposed she already had it memorized. That would be just like her.  
"Potions." They stood there, just staring at one another, for a short time.  
Victoire finally looked away, coughing pointedly. "If you are escorting me, you better start now. I will be late."  
"Right you are." He held out an arm, smiling widely. "If the lady would care to take my arm." She rolled her eyes, but took the arm offered to her.  
"If you trip on the stairs, Teddy Remus Lupin, you will sorely regret your offer."  
"Fair enough, my lady. I will leave my life in your hands."  
They reached the Potion classroom with little incident. He managed to reach over and leave a careless kiss on her cheek before running off.  
It was all she could do not to roll her eyes again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teddy Remus Lupin///He is cheeky, clumsy, and an all around fun guy. He tends to be a bit sarcastic, which doesn't make him the favorite of many of the teachers, but once he's your friend, he's your friend. He gets into fights quite frequently, as he doesn't let things go easily, and wants to defend everybody and everything from harsh words. He's a prefect, and a bit of a scholar, though he wouldn't admit it to anybody else. He and Victoire hit it off, and they compliment one another and help round each other out in their friendship. Later in life he becomes a member of the Ministry, and pushes for equality and communication between all members of the magical and non-magical community. He idolizes Arthur Weasley and frequently visits the Burrow for conversation or advice.


	2. blonde blue bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I was aiming for romantic, but it sort of turned out Twilight-esque.

She was laughing; her blonde hair falling about her face and into those starling shards of sea glass she called eyes. "I couldn't. Really."  
He offered his hand to her, winking. “Please? I promise I would be on my best behavior. You haven’t danced yet this evening, and well…I was hoping I could have just this one slow dance with you. It’s only fair that the most attractive couple here would have their moment.”  
She shook her head, smiling slightly. “I wasn’t aware I had a date for this dance. I seem to remember refusing you. Something about not causing talk? I really don’t wish to spend the rest of this evening explaining to the girls of my dorm why the man of the moment spend his evening in the arms of me. It wouldn’t just be one dance, you know that.” He inclined his head slightly, bringing it so close to hers, the ebony and corn silk blonde creating a study in shade and light. After what seemed like an eternity, she turned her head down and away, and he stood, smirking, as the victor.  
He raised an eyebrow at her, holding out his hand once more. "What's the worse that can happen? It's a dance. You're a dancer. I don't need to be a competent partner."  
Still shaking her head, she stood. "You could step on my toes. My dress could get caught on the floor. You could twirl me into a suit of armor. Somebody could try and cut in again. Would you like me to continue?"  
His eyebrows furrowed slightly, creating a small crevice in between them. "I haven't yet. The floor is perfectly polished, so that shouldn't be a problem. I'm really not that careless." He offered his hand again, and she slipped her small, pale one into it. The crevice smoothed. "If that last one is such a worry...well. Let's just say. I could be selfish."  
Teddy pulled Victoire closer to him, his broad hands almost encompassing her delicate waist. She gave him a warning look, but consented to wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re terrible at lead. Perhaps you should consider letting me?” He shrugged, his hands running up her body to her shoulders. Teddy smiled sweetly as she glared.  
“They’ll definitely talk now. That wasn’t want I mean, and you know that.”  
“I’ve never been to good at reading people. It was a honest mistake. Purely innocent, I swear.” His smile was anything but innocent. Luckily for Victoire, two could play this game.  
“Naturally. You are, after all, the epitome of good intentions, and better grace.” Victoire wrapped her hands around his waist, her arms slipping down ever so accidentally. “There. Much better, don’t you agree?”  
Teddy was flushing, but he wasn’t beaten yet. “Oh, of course.” For once, he was glad that she was one of the most sought after girls in the entirety of Hogwarts. That meant more spectators. “After all, you’ve always liked to be on top.” He was whispering into her ears; a low, deep growl whose words were easily heard by those around them. A few of the couple stopped; girlfriends glaring at their partners as they gaped openly at Victoire.  
Her smile now held more teeth that a human mouth possibly could. She rarely flushed, but she was doing so now, a faint strawberry tint about the ears and cheeks. Teddy was referring to an incident during their childhood; she had been particular, even as a child, and had insisted in sharing his room during visits, because she had to see the sunrise, its beauty matching her own from the first shimmering rays. He had a bunk bed, cleverly made to look like a ship’s interior. After a fight, the first physical fight either of them had ever been in, Victoire had emerged with a bleeding lip, less hair than she had entered with, and victory. She had been able to spend her time there in the top bunk, though Teddy exacted revenge with a few swift kicks to the underside of the bed. “But of course. A lifter must be the stronger one…physically.”  
Victoire was well known for her dancing ability; it had been the focus of a small Daily Prophet’s piece on the children of the Order of the Phoenix, the hailed heroes of battle of Hogwarts. The surrounding couples went back to their twirling, accidentally treading on each other’s feet in the haste to pretend as if gossip meant nothing to them. For Teddy, however, it was a cause for him to flush. Whenever they fought, she won. It was inevitable.  
He wouldn’t, however, let her win this one. Letting his hands wander back to her waist, he pulled her close. Close enough for their lips to brush, close enough for her to forget where she was. The catcalls and wolf-whistles faded into the background as Victoire silently cursed Teddy Lupin, and the way he made her feel.  
For once, he had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victoire Weasley///A beauty before she knew it, Victoire is unknowingly haughty, occasionally even cruel. Smart enough to know what she wants, and even more intelligent to know what she shouldn't, she makes the choice to not have ambition, rather, to take things as they come. She's a bit manipulative, and seems to have gained the brunt of her veela inheritance. She applies to be the first Hogwarts student to do a year abroad, studying at her mother's Alma Mater for her final year. She's a dancer with a flair for adventure. She lives in France after school, and teaches at a small (muggles) art school.


	3. lions can't fly, you know

“Free spirits. Children of the sun, the moon and stars. Queer folk, if you will.” Dominique, staring at the drying ink, tried to chew on the end of her quill. She ended up, instead, with a mouthful of feather, and an unpleasant feeling that she was being watched. However, when she turned around, spinning slightly on the wall she was so precariously perched upon, there was nobody to be seen. Shrugging, she swung back, so her feet were dangling over the edge, and considered for a second, what it would be like to fall. Painful when she hit the bottom, but that wasn’t really the part that interested her. She wasn’t, by any means, suicidal, but she was certainly curious, and death had always held her gaze. Longer than was considered properly good.  
   
Dominique thought of the sand covered tomb, with the roughly hewn stone, and the sweet scent of the sea. Of the dark, cool damp of the catacombs, and the pure, matter of fact smell that seemed to surround the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore. She left flowers there, too, when she wandered by, and quite accidentally, she had begun to talk to him. It wasn’t that she expected him to respond. Even if some remnant still remained, it wouldn’t communicate. Of that, she was sure. After all, why spend time in one place, when your soul is no longer tethered to such mundane needs. She loved life, the irregularity, the sheer discordance and awkwardness of it; the murmurs of a quiet hallway when she wandered down it, the scents that surrounded her, surrounded everybody, whether they noticed or not. The touch of food, or upon occasion, the lips of another.  
   
It didn’t really matter who the other was. They rarely stayed, drifting away as quietly as they came. Dominique wasn’t bothered by that, though people often told her she should be. They would meet again if they were supposed to, and if they didn’t, surely in death they would be one again. That upset people, especially the ones who lips; soft ones with tender thoughts behind the press, those hard with determination, the ones whose teeth scraped against her’s in their unnecessary rush to oneness. They would cry, or yell, their faces contorted with needless rage. She’d tried explaining once, will little luck. Connor still wouldn’t talk to her, though he still stared, as he always had. She wished he wouldn’t, not for her sake, but for his. He obviously wasn’t ready to consider his mind as something ethereal yet, and insisted on talking of love. Love was a frail word, full of changes and double meanings. Dominique didn’t understand love; after all, that was all she had. Love was, to her, what some people might consider religion.  
   
She loved, without thought, or separation. For that, he couldn’t forgive her, and wouldn’t move past it. The others, though they didn’t understand, had eventually stopped lingering, though they would still communicate with words, the lips she remembered so fondly forming for the thoughts that she truly considered important. Grinning, she pressed her quill down to the paper again. She had found what she was thinking of. “We walk with light feet in a world that expects us to tread like a wounded beast. We exist, and yet, in that, they expect us to exist, rather than being and making. If they let us create, they expect that we might begin to matter, yet, if we create, they don’t appreciate what we do. Pressed against a wall, they find that thinking is impossible, and begrudge us for doing so.” Again, there was that feeling of being watched. Reaching for the inkpot, she found it gone.   
   
Dominique span around, one of her feet catching upon the edge of the niche she was nestled in. She thought, as she began to tip backwards, that she might realize her thoughts about death, and the fall, rather sooner than she thought. Instead, she found herself pressed against a strong, familiar chest, the smell of sandalwood and fire comforting her.  
   
“Careful, Mini. I wouldn’t want to lose you over that.” She blinked up, her eyes suddenly sorrowful, singing some silent eulogy for the person they held in sway.  
   
“I thought you said you weren’t going to speak to me again. Something about it hurting you too much?” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. Dominique heard his breathe catch, and hoped he wouldn’t misunderstand. As much as she tried, she was still human, and her body, after such a shock, was having uncontrollable reactions; she was shaking like the last autumn leaf. “There it is again. You’re in pain.”  
   
He looked down at her, stroking her hair almost reflexively. “I’m not. You’re not that heavy.”  
   
She shook her head, stopping abruptly when she realized she was hitting him in the face with strands of golden white hair. “No. Here.” Dominique touched first his chest, and then his forehead, standing on tiptoes to reach it. He blinked at her, still uncomprehending.  
   
Connor chuckled, helping her hold her hair back. His grey eyes were bright, a curious mix of emotion and almost perfectly imitated apathy. “Well, you didn’t speak to me for two weeks. I assumed that meant the end of our relationship.”  
   
“So that’s what you were yelling about. I was thinking. I don’t tend to think of time when I’m thinking.” She smiled at him; one corner pulling up more than the other, the eyes misting over with thought.  
   
“That must have been a long thought. Or a big one. Perhaps both.” When had he pulled her onto the tower, and out of the indent she and her worldly belongs were sitting in? Dominique couldn’t remember, but she was wrapped in his arms now. She was shivering in spite of that, for it was almost winter, and the snow was piled deep in drifts. It was always windy where she had sat, and deep in thought, as he had supposed, Dominique hadn’t worn much more than she would in summer.   
   
“Both. It was a wonderful thought. I wish you could have had it, Connor. It would have made it possible for you to understand.” He chuckled again, pulling a jacket from a bag that must be his. “Here. I saw you come out. That’s why I was up here. I thought you might need a jacket.” She wrapped herself up in it, then threw her arms around him again.  
   
“You’re much warmer than the jacket.” The dreamy quality from her voice was almost completely gone. The statement sounded almost defensive; it was strange to hear such a normal thing coming from such an extraordinary mouth.  
   
He nodded, and pulled her towards him again. “I take it back, by the way.”  
   
“Take back what?” She nuzzled up against him. She had never been able to figure out why he smelt the way he did; old and warm, even when his smile was tinted with blue.  
   
“Everything I said when I was yelling at you.”  
   
She jerked her head away, to look at him, surprised. “I didn’t hear the words. You only sounded very upset. Does that mean you understand? You sounded like you didn’t, when you were yelling. You sounded all thorny and torn, when you were yelling. I didn’t like it, but you looked to hurt for me to talk to you. People tend to tear their wounds open, or I do. When I speak to them, when they’re upset.” Dominique continued to stare at him with wide glacier eyes. She willed him to understand for once.  
   
He grinned at her; the freckles on his nose stretching to fit the expression. “No. I don’t understand. But you’ll find, Mini, that when people care, really care, that they don’t need to understand. At least, not the specifics. I know you care, and that’s enough. You want, but you don’t need. And, if I want to stay by your side, I suppose that I’ll have to learn to realize that. All is forgiven.”  
   
She reached up on tiptoes again, to enter the sweet, familiar press of lips. In their equal passion, neither noticed a tall, slender figure slip away, content that, for once, there was no danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dominique Weasley///Shocking her sister and confusing her mother, Dominique is stubborn, even mulish. Whilst she is beautiful, she could really care less, chopping of almost all her hair as a child because it 'kept getting in the way'. She loves the Cottage, and during summers and holidays, goes swimming no matter the weather. She maintains Dobby's grave, planting flowers around the headstone and making certain the stone remains engraved. She's a free spirit, and spends most of her life exploring, searching for the last creatures and the lost places. Later in life she settles down in Godric's hollow, and write a series of wildly popular books (not unlike Gilderoy Lockheart, all though her stories are true.)


	4. some people care about their family

The scream in the screen of green burned into his ears as the simple joyous yell of the mass of maroon pressed against him like a physical force. Not that he wasn’t used to it. Whatever was said about supposed equal houses, and camaraderie, none of the other houses, on a whole, really ever wanted Slytherin to win over the brave and noble Gryffindor. Not that that rule applied to everybody. Turning his broom in his usual pre-match spin around the feel, he noticed a smiling, waving face; though his older sister was wearing the colours of her house, her hair was, from root to tip, a brilliant, iridescent shade of green. A quick grin flashed over Louis’ face, the action surprisingly nature on the normally sullen face. Even if her dorm-mates, and the normally fairly tolerant Connor, wore scowls, and kept on shooting furtive looks at the shade, she took no mind. He could always rely on her.  
   
If only all of his family was. His eyes wandered as he passed the Ravenclaw section of the stands, and he noticed that, as usual, Victoire had neglected to support his side. She was covered from head to toe in gold and the deepest of reds; even teasing out her hair and doing catlike makeup, so there was no mistaking in which side she favored. To add insult to the subtle, and nastily pointed injury, she reached over, whispering into the ear of the large, and rather brutish boy besides her. He looked up, and they had a good laugh together about something or another. The laughter was not pleasant laughter, and rather louder than it needed to be. The boy was a substitute keeper for Gryffindor; a player that was only benched because of his temper issues and low scores in coursework. He did not like Louis; in fact, his deep-seated dislike for him surpassed even the fact he was a Slytherin. No, he had done something unforgivable, in the Roland’s views, something he could not possibly ever fix, even if he wanted.  
   
Louis existed, and was quite by accident, better than Roland at everything. Even worse, he wasn’t conceited enough to mention it. It was the air of silent superiority, or rather, the assumed air, for, if he was to be completely honest, the fact that his sister would take interest in somebody so openly unappealing disquieted him more than the actuality of him. She had shot him the briefest of looks before whispering. He flew over Dominique, and found she too, was staring at Victoire in shock. Louis didn’t need to talk to her to know what she was thinking. “She’s doing it again. Manipulating, kissing the lips with the tongue she used to lie with. When will she learn? Hearts are not to be skewered and roasted; they aren’t a delicacy like the escargot mother serves. Nor are they to be pinned to boards like exotic butterflies, to be hung up on her wall for company.” He had just shaken his head then, not wanting to be involved. As usual, Dominique had been right. Victoire had not only stepped over the line; she had tried to wipe it away, as if it was drawn with chalk.   
   
He swung his broom into position, catching the eyes of the captain. Louis nodded curtly; Eileen had winked at him, her curly hair already unbelievably messing, and they were off. He focused fully on the game for a while, but his mind slowly wandered. The problem with his team is that they were too good for him. The beaters, Boyle and Blakefield, hurtled around like the Bludgers, knocking a shuddering fourth year from their broom with the wind they created. She was close to the ground, which was a piece of luck for both sides, but that was worth a chance to the goal. He batted away the ball with little thought; he had only to look at the third year, and her confidence fell away like a hollow shell. It wasn’t deliberate, simply the feeling he gave most people. His eyes were deep, almost always hidden beneath deep brows and a brooding expression he wore the way most people wear their favorite item of clothing. His height, and his upright position and poise, could hardly help. Even at his age, he was towering above the rest of his family, and showed no signs of stopping. On his broom, now, it wasn’t too bad, as the majority of the length was in his legs, but he gave the impression of a huge, magisterial bird; the sort that might feature as a judge in a child’s book.  
   
Louis didn’t suffer from nerves, and like his Dominique, he tended to ignore what people said. His stemmed not from a larger consideration of the ethereal, but rather that he had figured out earlier on in life than most that, if you listened to others, you wouldn’t ever be able to get much done. It wasn’t to say he never cared for anybody’s opinion, just that he had to know them for a long time before it really counted. Which might explain his close bond to Dominique, who had found him rather sweet, if smelling and loud, and had remained a dotty, and all together welcome present in his life. Victoire, who had distained the rather new and whole distraction from her, had tried to throw him into the ocean by Seashell cottage. Dominique had caught her; taking her older sister by surprise in her violence to protect the small bundle. She had bit her, scratching and screaming for the first time in her life to get them away from the age. From that time on, Dominique had decided that Victoire was not to be trusted, with her secrets, and the beauty in the world that only she could see. She had shared it, instead, with Louis, in light touches, and sweet smelling flowers she would leave around his crib when she could.   
   
Fleur, completely unused to a separate and silent set of daughters, had once tried to bring them back to friendship, but entering into the nursery, and seeing the gifts, had realized that things were changing. It was with the singular love, and the faint and impossible memory of the harshness of the eldest, that had made Louis so sullen at first. He had realized, upon sweeping down the halls of Hogwarts in his brand-new robes, that people would leave him alone if he simply made himself both menacing and impressive enough. If they saw him soften around Dominique, or when Viktor had come to visit, it was all the better; it stopped them from fearing him entirely. For not having a heart, even if it was just an act, scares people into action.   
   
Louis shook himself quickly, having to dive in front of the largest of hoops. In the labyrinth of his thoughts, he almost let the quaffle slip through his fingers, pulling it towards him by sheer luck. He heard Dominique’s alto singing out for him, over-powering all other voices. The words weren’t clear, but she was obviously happy. A rather upset, and gruff sounding voice cut hers off. She must have been magically modifying her voice. But there wasn’t time to think of that now. There was quidditch to play, and people to support. Surely Dominique wouldn’t begrudge him this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis Weasley///Sullen, quiet, and brooding, its hard to say what goes on in Louis mind. He speaks little, and rarely shows emotion. Unknown to others, he looks after Dominique, cleaning up after her messes and making certain she doesn't get hurt. He doesn't get on with Victoire; the only people he will consistently respond to are Dominique and Viktor Krum, who visits occasionally on holidays. He's strong, and the Keeper for Slytherin from his first year. He ends up as the head for the department of defense.


	5. other people's children

"You said you were having difficulty with your Charms?" Molly sat across from a round faced, slightly wide-eyed first year; one with wispy, slightly unkempt blonde hair. He nodded, and she noticed, with some disapproval, that his hair was littered with leaves and small twigs.  
   
"You've been out in the forest again. You know you're not allowed." He nodded again, his bare, and grubby feet swinging slightly in the comfy, if slightly threadbare armchair.  
"Perhaps you spent more time in the class room, and less dreaming..." She rubbed temples, pushing her glasses up slightly to reach them. He blinked at her, his eyes slightly too innocent for somebody of his age.  
   
"I want to see the Thestrals. I can see them taking the meat I leave. I can hear them, smell them." He paused, dangling dangerously on the edge of the chair, his legs swinging more rapidly.  
   
"You know you can't, Lysander. You need to see somebody die. Short of murdering somebody, which I am quite sure you will," Molly shot him a sharp, green glare, as if he would get ideas, "Not stoop too, you will not be able to see them. I can't understand why you would wish to. They are not a pleasant sight, from what descriptions and artwork that have been gathered would suggest."  
   
Lysander continued to stare at his swinging toes, his plump lips down turned into a frown. “But I want to.” His voice was touched with the hint of a whine. It was enough to make Molly wince, and sit even straighter in her chair. “Mummy can. Daddy can. Even Lorcan. At least, he says he can. Says they’re not anything important. Says I should stop daydreaming so much. And that I should wear shoes.” He said the last sentence with so much scorn that Molly wondered what that particular item of clothing could possibly do to be so offensive. It was well known that Lorcan, the studious, if somewhat scatter brained twin of Lysander, had been with Xenophilius when the incident that had killed their grandfather and left him with permanently dilated eyes. He refused, point blank, to divulge any further, murmuring only that it was the old man’s fault, and he hadn’t been able to prevent it, and would they please leave him alone and stop teasing his brother, because it wasn’t their fault the rest of the world was so boringly dull and normal, at least through their eyes, and would the please stop asking him why, because he was trying to find it out for himself, thank you very much.  
   
Molly blinked. “You might do well to listen to him. Shoes are perfectly accepted, by society and your dorm mates, and you could do to wear them. As for Thestrals, it is not good for somebody of your age to be thinking so much about death. Not when there are Charms to learn.” She tapped the sheet of paper on the low desk between them, and he let out a tragic sigh. “It wouldn’t kill you to learn.”  
   
“But I do learn! Honest I do!” His eyes bounced up to meet hers. She recoiled slightly at the intensity of his gaze. Lysander never looked at you; rather, he stared into you, and you tried to handle it as best you could. Molly held his gaze, marveling at the strength of will his innocent eyes held. “It’s just, it doesn’t speak to me. I don’t know what the use of knowledge is if you can’t have fun learning it! The forest teaches me things. I don’t understand why I can’t go there, Molly. I like it there. Nobody laughs when nothing’s funny.”  
   
She sighed. His oddity as it was, Lysander was often the butt of mean spirited jokes. Whilst the actual joke made went straight over his head, he could hardly ignore the tone they used, or the reaction they warranted from his brother. “People have different ideas of humour, and sometimes, because of these differences, they will laugh to cause pain. I quite agree with you in the fact that most flora and fauna don’t take the same path; however, there are quite a few things in the forest that would hurt you more than the screeching laughter of your peers. If you are accompanied, with permission, you might be able to venture a small way in. Otherwise, you are to stay in here. Maybe, just maybe, if you tried less to resist and more to find the beauty within the pages, you might find yourself catching up to the rest of your class. You might even surpass them, with careful planning and time.” He continued to stare at her, his mouth opening slightly, ready to protest. “For the moment, we might want to focus on your thus far dismal attempts at a levitation charm. Repeat after me.”  
   
He stared for a little while longer, his mouth agape, until she managed to pull his attention back to her by using the very spell they were supposed to be practicing to lift him, and his chair, slightly into the air. It was only then that he managed to focus, and retained his drive until the embers of the fire were naught but pinpricks of light. He began to flag after the first success, but she pushed him until he dropped into the pile of feathers, sound asleep. As Molly blinked sluggishly, her mind already creeping into blissful unconsciousness, she wondered if he might be convinced to practice all tomorrow as well. There was still so much to work on, still so much; and with that, her head fell to her arms, and she too, was soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly Weasley Junior///She's as bright as her father, though more tactful. She inherits his thirst for knowledge and his love of rules, though has no wish for ambition. She tutors the younger members of her house and is a prefect. Molly plays it by the book with no exceptions, making her stand out in her family. She gets on well with Albus and Rose, becoming the third member of their trio. She loves playing Chess, and insists on playing Ron every Christmas. Only leaving for three years after graduating, Molly returns to Hogwarts to become a Professor, where she remains for the rest of her life.


	6. a family of three-make that two

He came down to breakfast that morning with a distinct swagger, and a contented smile. A smile that was far too innocent for him to entirely pull off.   
"And who is the man?" He slid down next to Albus, poking his little brother's cheek.   
"I don't know." Albus pushed his hand away, trying to focus on his kippers and toast. His older brother had a habit of bragging, which was fine as far as he was concerned, as long as he didn't try and brag to him.  
"Couldn't you think of anybody?" James stretched, pausing to wink at a passing Hufflepuff. She giggled, flushing as her friend's began to whisper amongst themselves. "An older man, perhaps? A dashing, handsome hero."   
Albus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His brother had always been a bit of a intolerable braggart, but since last year, he had also become a ladies' man. "I don't know. I can't see any men around here. Only boys."  
James laughed a bit too heartily, his eye still on the Hufflepuff. "You've always been a joker, Albus. Maybe you should have joined the circus, instead of going to Hogwarts. You'd be the perfect..." James paused slightly. His younger brother was terribly boring, but he wasn't a freak show. Not like their younger sister, the traitor that she was. "Side show."  
Albus blinked heavily. "Charming, James. Haven't you got somebody else to bother? A pretty Hufflepuff, perhaps? Or maybe the house cup you won yesterday needs to be polished? I hear you and it are quite close."  
James laughed, his arm throw around his brother. He squeezed, ignoring the slight squeak as his younger brother began to have trouble breathing. "So you did go. I'm glad to hear it. Wouldn't want my family not supporting me, after all." He gripped Albus' shoulder, his knuckles turning white. Lily had been sitting at the front of the mass of silver and green. She had cheered when he was hit by a bludger, had laughed with the other's when he'd lost consciousness for those few, short seconds that had almost given Slytherin the game.   
Albus tried, and failed to shove James off him. "Lily told me. Now let go!"  
James let his hand drop, and glared most uncharacteristically at his brother's back as he walked off. Of course he still talked to her. He never had any spine. But then again, that's why James was the Gryffindor.  
Smirking as he stood, he strolled over to the Hufflepuff's. "So, are Hufflepuffs really as loyal as they say? Because I could use a little dedication in my life." He ran his fingers through his hair.  
Albus turned around just in time to see the Hufflepuff and his brother disappear. It was typical of him. Just typical. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Sirius Potter/// He's more like his grandfather than his father. While he believes in equality and fairness, he also has an ego, and a surprising dislike of certain people. He's not a bad person, but, like his grandfather, he occasionally throws low blows. He's a Seeker too, and inherits the Marauder's Map. He never quite understands his younger brother, and doesn't really forgive Lily for being a Slytherin (Though they get on better than he and Albus.)


	7. electricity

"You say it's called electricity? Why don't we use it?"  
He was sitting at the kitchen counter, his feet swinging slightly, making the rickety chair rock back and forth.  
"Magic doesn't cohabit well with it. Most wizards don't see the point." Hermione took a second to smile at her nephew. None of her children really took too much interest in how things had worked for her in her childhood.  
"But why not? It's more practical, isn't it?" The chair had begun to squeak. Hermione absent-mindedly waved her wand, and the squeaking stopped, the chair's bolts tightened. Slightly surprised, Albus stopped his feet.  
"Well. I always thought so, but if you look into how it's created, it's not really sustainable. Not the way most of it is created."  
"Why don't they try to fix it, then? I thought that's what those...scientists were for?" Albus, looked up anxiously, hoping he had used the right term.  
Hermione nodded. "I suppose so. Some don't use their intellect for that. Not everybody thinks about things logically."  
"Well, they should." Hermione watched, with some amusement, as her nephew slouched out of the kitchen. She had thought that often enough, at his age.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albus Severus Potter/// He's not the youngest of the three, but he often gets mistaken for it. He's shy, and fairly petite through out his life. He gains both of his parent's wit, though he doesn't have their large personalities. He's James' favorite target when it comes to teasing, and tries to avoid James through much of their time in Hogwarts together as a result, though he and Lily patch up their relationship in his final year. He ends up being Headboy, and prefers to spend holidays with the Granger/Weasely family than his own.


	8. excuse my older brother

She span her wand around her fingers thoughtfully, staring at the problem before her. "And you said James did this to you?" The poor boy in front of her nodded, his face swollen, and for some unimaginable reason, flashing a whole host of beautiful colors. "Did he say anything before hand?"  
The boy shook his head, tears running down his face in the same manner a clown's make-up slides, surreal and bright.  
"Well, did you say anything?" The boy hesitated, shaking his head more slowly this time. She sighed, and placed a hand on her hip. "Maycee, if you've said something to that git I call my brother, I need to know. It might give me a hint as to exactly what spell he might have used."  
Maycee tried to mumble something, but his lips ballooned at just that moment, making it impossible for him to speak. Lily was pleasantly surprised; she’d always assumed James had got by on smarm and charisma. This spell showed real effort; something of this morphic quality would mean more than one trip to the restricted section, and a higher knowledge of charms than most. Her brother’s marks were good, but she’d thought he’d found away around learning. Apparently not.  
“Can you write it down?” Lily pointed to the scroll of parchment. She had been planning on using it for a potion’s essay. That would have to wait now. Maycee shrugged, and picked up the quill, scrawling something on the middle of the scroll. She tried not to wince at his blatant wastefulness.  
“I called you not? What’s that supposed to mean?” He shook his head, and put quill to page once more. “I called you hot. Is that all?”  
He looked at, his eyes illuminated with something that could have only been described as hope. “Well, I can’t imagine him cursing you for just that. Are you certain you didn’t say anything else?” Maycee shuffled his feet, looking at the quill as if it might bite him. “Come on. Spit it out!”  
He glanced from her, to the paper, and back to her again. “I haven’t got all day, you know.” He hesitated, then scrawled on, almost knocking the ink over in his haste.  
“I told him that he was an…” Lily paused, trying to figure out the word. “An idiot? Is that what it says?” Maycee nodded, and she continued. “An idiot for thinking that you should be in Gryffindor, because bravery is for tossers, and that if he was angry with your house, he shouldn’t, because Slytherin is the best. Even if it wasn’t, you’re happy here, so bugger off. Right then. And that’s all.” He shook his head, pointing to the bottom of the parchment. “Then you asked him if you could date me?”  
Maycee hid his face, nodding furiously. “Well, in that case, I know exactly what he would have done.” She raised her wand, and with some concentration, removed her brother’s handiwork. “I have to ask. Why on earth did you think it would be a good idea to ask my brother that?” He shrugged, and turned away, the tears probably building up again.  
“Hang on. I’m not done with you yet.” Maycee stopped, and turned around. He was surprisingly dry eyed. Perhaps the tear had just been a reflection, a minor charm to project outwardly the inner emotions. She could ask James later, when she chewed him out for being such a prat. “You can pick me up at eight. And if you’re late…” She smirked, suddenly looking far more like James. “Let’s just say, I’ll make this look like a child’s attempt at face painting.” Maycee fled the room, nodding furiously. He couldn’t believe his luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily Luna Potter/// Quick and bright, Lily is as much her mother as James is his grandfather. She was offered a choice by the sorting hat, and chose Slytherin because she realized that she had ambition inside her, and denying it would only confuse her. She fits in with the personalities in her house; but her sense of justice is still strong, and she believes in equality. Her ambition is for herself alone. She plays as the Chaser for the Slytherin team, and leads them to a house cup victory against her older brother. Her and James have a friendly rival relationship; though she doesn't appreciate the prejudice he feels towards her house. She is arguably braver than James as she is honest about her ambitions, and rather than fighting them, finds good uses for them.


	9. two means friendship

She'd tracked Albus down on the very first day, cornering him in one of the comfier chairs in the corner of the common room. "We should stick together."   
Albus looked up from the book he'd been reading to blink at her timidly for behind long eyelashes. "Okay." She waited for him to say something else. He didn't, simply went back to his book. Rose sat besides him, tapping her foot impatiently.  
"Okay? Is that it?" He didn't offer anything else. "Look, if we're going to be friends, we need to learn how to communicate."  
Albus marked his place in the book and set it down besides him. "All right."  
"Wonderful!" She beamed at him for a couple of seconds seconds. Then a few more. He didn't say anything else. Rose sighed.  
"Look, I understand you being shy, but I did expect at least some sort of refusal, if you don't want to be my friend. At least a 'bugger off' is better than pretending to be something you don't want to be. Haven't you heard?"  
To her surprise, Albus began to laugh. "You're not used to people listening to you, are you?" She shook her head, still bewildered. "Even if I did say no. I've seen you at christmas parties. If you wanted me to be your friend, you'd wear me down eventually. I don't mind you, Rose. So stop acting as if I'm going to run off. Calm down." Rose's face fell slightly, and he back tracked hurriedly. "What I meant was, well. I'd love to be your friend. So don't worry about it."  
Rose smiled, and soon she was laughing too. She had been right. Her and Albus would get along wonderfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose Weasley///She's inherited her mother's brain, but her father's body. Gangly, tall, and ginger, she spends most of her days inside, preferring to read rather than to open herself up to the possibility of embarrassment. Like her father, she tends to be self conscious, but is smart enough to not let it stop her. She is head girl, and head of the astronomy club. She continues SPEW at Hogwarts, and is frequently seen down in the kitchens, trying to comfort a now sullen, and apathetic Winky. She's not socially aware, but gets by by sensing the sort of emotion people are feeling. She hates being confused or bested, and becomes Albus' best friend.


	10. younger sibling's job

"Rose! Rose!" Hugo ran towards his big sister, almost tripping over his too long robes in the mad dash effort to reach her. Rose grimaced at him.  
"Look. After you're sorted, you're supposed to go and sit with your house. It's tradition." Hugo ignored her, stumbling into the spot next to her. Quite a few of the people around began to titter at the sight, and Rose began to edge away from him.  
"But, Rose! The hat said I was the most loyalest brain he'd ever read." He followed her, his feet swinging with each little inch.  
Rose winced at the blatant butchering of english, noticing her brother's smug look. "You did that on purpose. You know nothing aggravates me more."  
Hugo shrugged, stopping to pull his robes from the snag in the previously smooth and flat great hall floor. "Maybe. Hey. Rose, aren't you going to congratulate me. I knew you were joking when you said it would hurt."  
It was her turn to look smug. "Older sister's duty. How else can I keep you in check." She was glad the titters had subsided slightly, all though the second year across from them was eyeing Hugo in a way Rose didn't quite like.   
"You could have just asked me to shove it. Like you normally do." Hugo sounded cheerful enough, but his face had drooped slightly.   
Rose sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Her younger brother could be such a baby. "Like I am now. Off to the Hufflepuff table, where you belong."  
Now it wasn't just his face that had falled; his voice held the unmistakable sound of somebody who is just about to start whining.   
"But I barely got to see you all summer! And you told mum and dad you'd look after me. Can't I stay?" He had caught up with her, and was looking up at her beseechingly. "Please, Rosie?"  
Rose bit back the harsh words she wanted to say, and nodded. "All right. Just this once, you understand me? And you'll have to bed down in the burrows, with the rest of the badgers. Don't expect me to let you trail along with me all of the time." She tried to sound stern, but it didn't quite work with Hugo.  
"Yes! Thanks!" He had grabbed her before she could protest, pulling her into a tight hug. Rose once again resisted the urge to sting him with sharp words.   
The others had begun to titter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugo Weasley///He's oblivious, and blissfully so. He's not really good at anything, being perfectly average at almost everything he tries. He feels shadowed by Rose, and is often misunderstood or ignored by her. That doesn't stop him from defending her when he can, and trying to spend time with her. One of the only Hufflepuffs in his family, he always feels like his father expected him to be a Gryffindor, leading him to take risks to try and be courageous. He learns Merrish from the portrait of Dumbledore, and finds he has a talent for languages. He ends up working for the Ministry, under Percy Weasley.


	11. chill out

"Hey, James. You need to cool it, man. People are beginning to stare." Fred glanced around the common room, trying to ignore the glares from group of rather nervous looking first years who they had kicked out of the good seats by the fireplace.  
"Calm down? You want me to calm down! After that's been dropped on me?" James had the crazy glint in his eyes. This wasn't good. The last time Fred had seen that look, they'd been called before the head master.   
"I don't understand why you're freaking out. I mean, look at Roxy. She's in the same place, and you don't see me screaming, now do you?" James turned those crazy eyes towards him, and Fred suddenly felt the insatiable urge to kick something.   
"What the hell was that for?" James dropped his eyes, the crazy gone, to rub his shin.  
Fred shrugged. "Sorry, man. Desperate measures for desperate times. You were channeling the crazy. Look, so our sisters are in Slytherin. So what? Ambitious people go there. It's not just the dark arts, my father is better than yours, look I'm so wonderfuls that go into there. It's anybody who really wants to be known, remembered, or happen in a big way."  
James growled, looking up. "My sister's a Potter. We're family. I didn't have any hope for Albus, but Lily."  
Fred shrugged again, leaning back. This was good. The crazy was gone, and James was talking. The first years had even stopped staring. "And Roxanne's a Weasley. You think half the kids there are going to be thrilled about that? The way I see it; so, they're stuck with trophy children. So what?" He sighed. James eyes hadn't softened. He was going to have to explain it more clearly.  
"What I'm trying to say, man, is that Lily made her choice. I figure that your dad was asked to choose, you were; little Lils probably was as well. She decided. Her loss. And Roxy and her will stick together. You know, we could always ask Louis to keep an eye-"  
James didn't let Fred finish, letting out a low moan of defeat and frustration, and dropping his head into his hands. "Louis never speaks. Asking him to look out for them is like asking a brick wall to be a door."  
Fred began to chuckle, making James look up. It only made him laugh harder; James' carefully sculptured cool mess had turned into a real one. "If you need protection, you don't want a door. Only a brick wall. Man! Just because a boy don't speak, don't mean he doesn't have fists of fury. She'll be fine."  
Lost to utter despair, James dropped his head again. This wouldn't be his year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fred Weasley Junior///Fred is mistaken quite frequently for his Godfather's (Lee Jordan) son. The most athletic of the next generation, he gives almost every sport a try, settling down to be beat and right hand man of James Potter. Undeniably cool, he opts to use humor in their games, either edging on or lightening up James' attack. He's a good guy, but he tends to take everything as a joke, and insists on setting off fireworks for his namesake whenever he visits his grave. He works for many years with his father in his shop, finally taking it over when he retires. He's always trying something new, and rarely says no to a dare.


	12. slytherin

"So, Slytherin. Did the hat ask you where you wanted to go, San?" Roxanne looked up at Lily, who had slipped in besides her.  
"Did you see our brother's faces? Fred looked so upset..." Roxanne trailed off, letting her head drop back down onto the smooth, weathered wood of the table.   
"James looked ready to kill." For some odd reason, Lily was smirking. "Serves him right, really. I warned him, he might not like my choices."  
"I don't think he expected this," Roxanne mumbled into the table. "I didn't."  
"The hat didn't give you a choice, then?" Lily was looking around, ignoring the questioning look Albus had sent her. She'd tapped his shoulder as she'd gone by.   
"No. I wish it had. Dad will be upset." Roxanne's voice was shaking slightly. Sighing, Lily began to stroke her hair.  
"Hey now. He won't. You know your father; it will be the next family joke. 'Seriously evil daughter, coming through'. 'Oh no! I'll have to let you stay up late now. I wouldn't want you reopening the chamber of secrets!' He won't be upset."  
"I don't want to be the next family joke." Roxanne's voice had stopped wavering, settling into a sullen obstinate tone. "And even if he does. Fred-" The steadiness in her voice hadn't lasted very long. Her brother's name had come out as a wail.  
"San, look up for a second." Roxanne didn't raise her head. "I'm being serious. Just for a second. You'll want to see this. I promise. You can go straight back to your death match with the table after that."  
Roxanne begrudgingly lifted up her chin. Fred, who had been trying to grab her attention ever since she'd sat down, waved cheerily, and gave her the thumbs up. "What's he mouthing? I can't read lips."  
Lily chuckled. "Typical. He's saying, 'You're on.' I think you might just have to join the Slytherin quidditch team, San. Otherwise, you really will never live down the shame."  
She smirked back, her face faltering again when he looked away. "Oh no. He doesn't really expect me to do that, does he? I'm atrocious at flying."  
Lily just continued to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roxanne Weasley///Her father was an ambitious man, and whilst she got that, she is sadly lacking in his sense of humor. From a young age, she helps him with the books, and watches with a keen eye as the business goes on. Her ambition is personal, and her charm is that of her father. She gets a sense of passion from her mother, and isn't ashamed of her house. She's a bit more sensitive than she lets on, however, and ends up feeling ashamed of her family, being the butt of many Slytherin jokes. She develops an uneasy relationship with Scorpius.


End file.
